Watching Over Each Other
by Xin0Lan
Summary: Despite Sherlock's blindness increasing more severely , it doesn't stop him from The Work. Still running around crime scenes with the faithful doctor at his side all "seems" fine; however, nothing ever goes well completely-blind or not. The addition of Mary brings many unexpected aspects. NO slash, vulgarity, or character deaths! Happy Ending. Book 2 of IN WHOSE EYES.
1. The End and The Beginning

**Watching Over Each Other  
**

*_*This story picks up right where "In Whose Eyes?" left off. Think of this chapter as the 'next day' in the end of Chapter 30.**_

_You do Not need to read In Whose Eyes to understand this story. _

_Enjoy!_

* * *

**Chapter 1**

* * *

The morning light came flooding through the crack between the half-drawn curtains rousing the sleeping men. Today was not a good day for oversleeping, neither men wanted to be late. There would be a lot of grief if they were so.

John stretched and cracked the bones in his spine. Kipping out in his chair was definitely something he would not be doing again anytime soon. "I'm getting far too old for this; I need to sleep in a proper bed and not just flopping down on any random piece of furniture. My neck and back are paying dearly for my laziness." John mumbled to himself.

"I agree, you knew the outcome, but I'm surprised as to why you stayed instead of go up to your room," said the unmistakeable voice filtering out from the blankets piled on the sofa, "It would have been more logical to return upstairs once Mary and Molly went home than stay here in this room. I estimate that about thirty percent of today's conversation from you will some way reflect on your body's pain from not sleeping in its accustomed place. Furthermore, I believe today also will have some very interesting ..."

Sherlock didn't sleep, or at least he didn't think he did. It just so happened that after dinner and playing mindless board games with their friends, he wandered around his Mind Palace carefully filing important information about the past day into their respective Rooms. It was exhausting work so had to take a short break from it. Well, apparently that "short break" turned into all night.

"Yes, thank you Sherlock. I know, my neck is already protesting rather loudly. Trust me, I won't forget this. Please. It's way too early in the morning for this to start. Can't you at least wait till I've had a cuppa before you go off on your ramblings?" John complained massaging his neck as he went to put on the kettle and start breakfast. "Fancy something special to eat this morning, Sherlock?"

Sherlock untangled himself from the mound of blankets and made his way to the window, "No. I ate the other day. Don't you remember how your charming, fiancée and the other two ladies forced some dinner into me last night? They just wouldn't take "No" for an answer. He pouted for a moment letting the sun's rays caress his face. "What time is it?"

Suppose it was just habit that the first thing Sherlock did every morning was too look out and watch London wake up. Ever since a child, Sherlock always looked out the window first thing every single morning. This morning there were people milling around, or rushing off to the office via cab or on foot. John never knew about his habit because the doctor was always up in his room when Sherlock stood at the window or rushing around getting ready for work too busy to notice. "John wouldn't understand, he'd probably laugh at me for being so soft," Sherlock chastised himself. It was a sentimental aspect that he shamefully allowed himself to indulge in. He needed to break that habit; it no longer served any purpose to him. He had been watching London every morning since his arrival to Baker Street years ago to know well the schedule of the people passing by under his window. Watching London wake up was just another thing added to the ever growing list of things he couldn't do that anymore.

Holding his hand out at arms distance the self-proclaimed non-sentimental man could make out a faint outline of it if the room was bright enough. To him, he saw the world as if he had on sunglasses watching an old black and white film on screen in the theatre. It was just enough to distinguish light, darkness, shapes and shadows.

_No point crying over it, I'll just find some new hobbies. I've always wanted to become a beekeeper, I could start researching now for it. It's seems enjoyable and something interesting could come from it._

John suppressed a groan and smart remark about not eating properly and how the human body wasn't designed for not eating. It didn't matter; John would get food into his friend. "Just after half seven. By the way, I hope you do _KNOW_ what today is right?" He said poking his head back in the room to find the consulting detective seated in his chair cradling his violin like a guitar softly play a few random chords.

_How could I ever forget? It is the biggest day in John's life and that means my life too._

"Yes, I remember," he said plainly.

Waiting for the kettle to boil John rummaged around the cupboards looking for something edible and not infected with one of Sherlock's more questionable experiments.

_Today is special, the best day of my life. I will not have him pass out from malnutrition. I will make sure he stands next to me on this important day. Where would I be without him? I don't know honestly. Living off the money from being invalided wouldn't have gotten me much at all. My war wounds might have even progresses worse, who would want to hire me then for anything? A bumbling ex-doctor who stumbles around and can't keep a steady hand. That life seems so depressing; certainly not at all like the exciting life I've had ever since I met him. He cured my wounds and had me trailing after some of the most dangerous men in all of UK. I also wouldn't have met my darling wife-to-be either. I owe him quite a lot, much more than he thinks so._

After much lively discussion and quite some time later, John finally got his flatmate to eat something before going up to dress for the occasion. "Just call me if you need anything, ok?" John called over his shoulder climbing up the steps, he knew today would be wonderful and want his Best Man to enjoy it also.

Sherlock headed to his room and pulled out his "armour". With a sigh he accepted the fact the wedding really was indeed happening, "Right, into battle then," donning on the three-piece suit. _Stupid bow tie! I never wear neckties. Why does having to tie a bow make it so complex!? Ok. That's settled. I'm not wearing it._The frustrated man untied the knot he made and just left the neckwear draped limply over his shoulders.

* * *

"Ready John?" called Sherlock who was holding his violin case across his lap and drumming his fingers on the armrest. "Yes, just give me a moment to get my shoes." Sherlock could hear the nervous groom scuttle around the flat gathering last minuet possession. His wallet. His phone. The boutonnière and pin...  
"Ok. Ready finally. Got everything you need Sherlock?" Came the long-awaited reply. The man nodded and rose clutching the case in his right hand. "Hold up," John brushed his fingers over Sherlock's to let him know where he stood then reached out for the untied bow tie.

"Why is this not tied?"  
"Because it didn't want to be," Sherlock stated matter-of-factly.  
"Well that's not going to work. It has to be tied. You're not leaving the flat half dressed. Give me your case and tie it."  
"No."  
"Sherlock," John warned. "Tie it or I will."  
One sighed and the other groaned, yet again another little battle over the most trivial matters.  
"Fine. Just do it." Sherlock snapped.  
With a quick flick of the wrist it into a neat and crisp bow tie.

_New note. Date: Wedding day. Fact: John knows how to tie a bow tie properly. File: John Watson. Folder: Habits and Skills. Saved._

"Now we're both properly ready. Let's go!"

John offered his elbow to Sherlock, to which he took, and followed the groom out the door. _This is it, my final moments of being a bachelor. When I walk through that door again I will be a married man. My beautiful bride on one side and best friend on the other. _

* * *

**A-N: Thanks for reading. I hope I didn't disappoint you with this new story. Any criticism would be lovely. Chapter 2 is almost done.  
**


	2. Wedding Observations and Trifles

**Chapter 2**

* * *

As the men made their way to the venue, the ladies were frantically getting the last minuet touches on their appearance and dress. All over the bridesmaids looked lovely in *lilac*, not purple as Sherlock made sure of telling John the difference when making the arrangements weeks ago.

:-:

"I like the bridesmaids in purple," commented an exhausted  
John who buried his head in his palms. He was more than done looking at wedding arrangements, any distraction would be a welcomed relief.  
"Lilac," came the blunt reply without missing a beat.  
"What? Lilac?" John quirked an eyebrow.  
"This is *your*wedding John, at least keep the details straight. People usually consider the wedding date as an important occasion, right? Your bridesmaids wil be wearing lilac not purple. Do keep that in mind" Sherlock deadpanned.  
"Is there actually a difference? Purple and lilac look the same to me."  
"Don't be so dull John, even I know the difference between lilac and Purple," he sighed. "Obviously they're not the same, or everything with a reddish blue hue would have been named Purple."  
"Yes, Mr. Fashion Designer. Now can we discuss something more interesting than colours? How about a case Sherlock? For me, please." John clasped his hands and begged.  
"Fine," the other man huffed as the withdrew the mobile from his pocket and selected a case involving some dancing men^.

:-:

"We're here, and thankfully still rather early." announced John as he led Sherlock in quietly to the side waiting room. The ride to the venue was mostly silent since neither men were fond of small talk. Sherlock was still having some doubts. It wasn't that he didn't enjoy the idea of being Join's Best Man and best friend, but of what would happen once the wedding spirit was gone.

"John. Do stop pacing. You'll put a hole in the carpet. Take a seat. You're distracting me." Sherlock said. He pressed the phone and it spoke the current time. "We still have at least 15 minuets. Why can't you be still? On the ride here you were just as fidgety."

"Sherlock. I'm fine. I'm getting married, remember? Go back to your Mind Palace. Everything will be just fine." John quipped earning him a scowl, but didn't stop pacing. The other man only huffed an annoyed sigh, clearly the Bridegroom wasn't "Fine". There would be a lot of categorising on the days events, best to not let it gather until the evening.

_New Note. Date: Wedding Day Waiting Room. Fact: John is nervous and stressed. Denys it. Displays erratic and unusual behaviour. Require more observation. File: John Watson. Folder: Behaviours. Saved._

At last the precious moment came, the two anxious men stood into their proper places waiting for the cue to start the ceremony.  
Sherlock didn't quite understand his best friend's behaviour today at all, but the time spent going around in his Mind Palace solidified his feelings for the occasion. He would be happy about it. _John is thrilled so that makes me glad for him._

* * *

Mary Morstan stood by her wonderful and loving Doctor John Hamish Watson before everyone and together they declared the vows to each other. It was a lovely ceremony and reception. Well, considering Sherlock's presence there made the definition of "lovely" a bit skewed. Naturally as expected. Of course Doctor and Mrs. Watson enjoyed their time chatting with the guests over mindless matters on the weather or decoration of the reception. Sherlock, on the other hand, took it upon himself to involve the audience in a rather unusual Best Man Speech filled with many unnecessary details about the gruesome cases John and he had solved together in the past. Despite the awkwardness in Sherlock's recantation of the case involving an elephant in the room or the dwarf assassin with an impeccable aim with the poisonous blow darts, it was considerably a good speech that wasn't too mushy with sentimental feelings or too filled with guts and gore. Besides, Sherlock never was one for having many feelings.

A tearful crowd threw the consulting detective into a little confusion. Wedding were not his forte, especially not giving Best Man Speeches. Everyone thought he did well, John especially so, except one.

Molly brought her snobbish date that was too full of himself and "his" clever deductions involving a preposterous "meat dagger theory" during Sherlock's speech.

_Molly you're far too intelligent for a boring bloke like him, what convinced you to ever go out on a date with him? What is he to you? He's nothing compared to what you are, not even half of you can measure up to him._

"Honestly! Has he surpassed Anderson in dropping the IQ level of the whole human population? I never thought that was even possible." Sherlock wondered incredulously. That insolent beau had a name possibly starting with T, but the trivial information never made it in to the consulting detective's memory. It just wasn't worthy enough.

_What was it? Timothy? Tom? Must be something like that._

Sherlock was pacing up and down the pathway between the tables carefully counting his steps, yet continuing in his rambling about the case and the wonders of how brilliant John was. The groom never knew his best friend could speak that eloquently. It was Sherlock's way of complimenting his doctor, friend, and blogger to the highest degree known to him. John felt honoured to have such a good friend. One who save him from living a dull and unsatisfying life.

Only a tiny handful of people knew about the rapid progression of the consulting detective's condition, and he indeed tend to keep it that way, but thanks to that insolent fool's inconsideration the cover was blown instantly. His only hope rested in the fact that most people did not observe like he did and wouldn't notice his lack of focus on any single object in front of him, thus not realising his lack of adequate sight. That fool didn't know a thing about Sherlock except wanting to get back at the Best Man for embarrassing him and his "brilliant" Meat Dagger Theory, but things didn't turn out that expected for either person.

_When does it ever turn out as expected?_

As he was going off in a huff after being insulted, Tom violently kicked back the chair when he stood and attempted to storm out, but barrelled straight into the taller man which threw them both off balance causing Sherlock to trip over the tipped chair. He landed with a painful hard smack on the cold hard floor.

"Sherlock!" Molly and John flew to his side in an instant pushing over a gawping Tom.

* * *

**A-N: Thanks for reading. F F N was not acting right for a few days so it wouldn't let me upload to Doc Manager hence the delay in posting. Any criticism or comments would be lovely. Ta!**

**^There is a case called Dancing Men. I suggest you read it, it is very interesting. **

**FYI: The semester is nearly over, I have term exams very soon-far too soon for my liking, thus I will not have time to write/post the third chapter until sometime mid next week. After that chapters will be more regular. **

**:) **


	3. The Spectacle of Tom Fool

**Watching Over Each Other **

** Chapter 3**

* * *

As he was going off in a huff after being insulted, Tom violently kicked back the chair when he stood and attempted to storm out, but barrelled straight into the taller man which threw them both off balance causing Sherlock to trip over the tipped chair. He landed with a painful smack on the cold hard floor.

"Sherlock!" Molly and John flew to his side in an instant pushing over a gawping Tom.

The whole room froze and every pair of eyes was pinned on Tom. Lestrade's death glare on that insufferable fool spoke: "If you dare move a muscle, you DO NOT want to know what will happen." It was a good thing the unintelligent lad didn't see Mrs. Hudson's expression because if he had, then should the ground to just swallow him right then a there would have been a much-welcomed relief.

:-:

"Sherlock! Wake up! Are you ok?" Molly's frantic pleas echoed the silent room as Doctor Watson examined his unconscious patient. Becoming conscious again, Sherlock saw the silhouette his pathologist kneeling over him with the skirt of her dress puffed out like a parachute. He couldn't help but have a small smile on his face. Waking up to see her first was something Sherlock filed away as "bit very good." Fortunately, the treatment for the injuries only consisted of rest and some cold packs to help with the bruising.

She was relieved. Her smile radiated making her bright yellow dress seem insignificant to it. He knew she was smiling by the way she breathed even though it wasn't a clear image to him. It required too much effort to take that smile off his face so he let it stay. For this one instance he allowed sentiment to play a tiny part in his behaviour. Molly took his hand, and he instinctively closed his long fingers around hers. "Molly? John?" called the injured one as he felt his doctor palpate his shin noting the placement of the swollen points.

"Yes, it's us Sherlock. How do you feel? Your head?" Doctor Watson asked cupping the man's face in his hands bringing it a bit closer to his own. Sherlock only shrugged, but it was beating out a battle chant inside. John didn't need to know that though, it would ruin his wedding even more than it already has. "Open your eyes wide and look straight, yes good, and straight into my eyes. Good. I need to make sure you're not concussed too badly," he ordered using his patient-friendly voice. "Good, no serious damage," he vaguely heard John mumble whilst trying to block out all the noise. _People were shouting at each other, or maybe to him? He wasn't too sure. People were rustling about and those awful plastic chairs made a horrible screeching sound as they dragged across the floor._

It was damaging to his Mind Palace, this small tumble threw a few temporary fact files out of place. All the chaos only made it hard to refile everything back into their proper places. Molly noticed he visibly cringed at the level of noise, so gave his hand a slight squeeze. "Sherlock," she deftly whispered in his ear without drawing attention, "Listen to me, okay? Ignore the noise. You're got the wind knocked out of you when the two of you collided. You'll be fine soon. John's coming out of his doctor-mode in a moment," Sherlock subconsciously relaxed his grip on her hand, "Good, that's good," she said. "Stay still," Doctor Watson ordered. "Floor was obviously made for treading on, and not testing the gravity with. I refuse to stay in the floor. I'm well enough to stand," Sherlock murmured under his breath.

:-:

Sherlock didn't do as he was told. If his head didn't hurt so much he would have stalked away in shame and embarrassment, but merely brushed John's hands away, stood up, and scanned the room slowly. It was a headache, there had been worse things he'd been subjected to, "I'm fine!" he grumbled gruffly to the two. Calling louder he asked, "Where is that insolent child named Tom? I wasn't done with him. Did he forget all the manners his aunt, who by the way has five cats, secretly likes to wear pink frilly dresses with sequinned puffed sleeves, taught him about never leaving until dismissed? That is to say if he ever even had manners to begin with, which he had, but only a select few."

Tom hung his head in low trying to hide the redness creeping over his cheeks and neck slowly backing up from the towering angry mass coming close to him. Unbeknownst to the boy, Lestrade had snuck up behind and put his hand out to touch his back, keeping him from moving anymore. Given Sherlock's tall stature, he did prove to be on the more intimidating side of the spectrum. A tall scary man on one end and The Law on the other was not a good mix.

"Tom," Sherlock leaned forward and growled, "Take a seat. I don't imagine you going anywhere soon." Sherlock gestured as Molly righted the chair and planted it in the front of the room. All the guests were eagerly anticipating what would continue on from this "Meat Dagger Theory Discussion." Tom stood there trying to process everything that had happened in a mere few minutes. One moment he was stalking off, the next everyone seemed to hate on him. It wasn't like he planned on running into the man, it just happened. "He should have just accepted my theory, it was brilliant. Besides, he couldn't even solve it," reasoned Tom foolishly in his mind.

"Sit down!" Captain Watson commanded to the insubordinate disrespectful child as he marched up to him. He obeyed at once. He sat straight and at attention, not daring to cross the wrath of the military commander any further.

"At least the boy is smart enough not to pick another fight now," the soldier smirked to himself.

:-:

Discreetly Molly snagged Sherlock's jacket cuff, leading him along as she stomped up to the trembling bundle of nerves. "YOU are in so much trouble, more than you can ever imagine," she jabbed a finger in his petrified face, "Fire away, Sherlock. He's all yours," Molly said whilst shooting daggers at Tom. He would pay dearly for hurting her friend. Very dearly_. No one hurts my friends and leaves free of charge, when Sherlock is done stripping him to a pile of bones I'll finish up with my own special touches.  
_

"With pleasure," came a voice filled with excitement and a small clap of his hands. Molly stifled a snigger seeing his Grinch-like happy face expression, it was creepily scary. _Serves Tom every right to terrified of the tall man. _

Placing his hand behind his back and stooping over, the detective walked in slow circles around Tom, just as if he were a vulture preying on a wounded prey waiting for it to be dead. Tom would be figuratively "dead" in a matter of seconds and ripped to shreds. With Sherlock's quick tongued deductions, Tom visibly sunk lower and lower into the chair. There was no way out of anything once Sherlock had started speaking. He opened and closed his mouth a few time trying to interject, but was quickly cut off by the consulting detective.

"I suggest you don't open your mouth again. Every time I hear you smack your lips I cringe. It's a dreadful sound and I'm sure breathing like a fish isn't attractive at all especially if you're planning on keeping a girl, that is. Considering your history with girlfriends, countless of them might I add. There have been at least 7 if not of more, try to work on your mannerisms? It would help tremendously in keeping any sort of person at your side for longer than ten minutes. I would estimate a 95% chance of your next female friend staying with you for exactly five days before she realises what an unintelligent being you are, given the fact she probably wouldn't even score high on intelligence levels. Speaking on all that, what do you have to say about Ms. Hooper? It's clearly obvious you two met through mutual friends, but surely there were some women that were more suited to your brainwave activity. It baffles me on how you can even comprehend a simple conversation with Ms. Hooper. Her dullest conversations would have your head spinning, no doubt. You are not worthy to converse with her."

Upon hearing those words, Molly dipped her head squeezed herself more into the wall, hoping to become part of it praying her face would stop turning hotter and hotter. _I never knew Sherlock could say such nice things since he always says such horrible things about everyone, well except John. _

Finding the courage to look up at the consulting detective and Tom again, she was relieved to see the pathetic mass walk with a dazed look out of the room, whilst John rose from his place at the table and collected his Best Man from the middle of the room, cleverly hiding the motive from the guests with a manly handshake and pat on the back, "Thanks mate, you're the best."

Everyone was happy. Sherlock wasn't hurt too badly, Molly's self-confidence sky-rocketed, and John was happy everything ended well.

The only thing left was the dancing; the Watsons hoped it too would run without a hitch.

* * *

**A-N: Hello my lovelies again. As noted previously, I am in the middle of preparing for my Final Exams. Every time I would become overwhelmed with revising, I'd come a write a bit. Sorry for the delay in updates, but after this coming week I will be finished with my courses! Yea! More time to write. **

**As always, any comments you write are greatly appreciated. Ta!**

**XinLan**


	4. Estella, Sauvignon blanc, and Dancing

**Chapter 4**

* * *

Upon hearing those words, Molly dipped her head squeezed herself more into the wall, hoping to become part of it praying her face would stop turning hotter and hotter. I never knew Sherlock could say such nice things since he always says such horrible things about everyone, well except John.

Finding the courage to look up at the consulting detective and Tom again, she was relieved to see the pathetic mass walk with a dazed look out of the room, whilst John rose from his place at the table and collected his Best Man from the middle of the room, cleverly hiding the motive from the guests with a manly handshake and pat on the back, "Thanks mate, you're the best."

Everyone was happy. Sherlock wasn't hurt too badly, Molly's self-confidence sky-rocketed, and John was happy everything ended well.

The only thing left was the dancing; the Watsons hoped it too would run without a hitch.

The evening part of the wedding reception started off well with some nice background music filling the air as guests wandered around engaging in idle chatter or giving well wishes to the happy couple. Since Tom had left the luncheon humiliated, Molly was absolutely certain he wouldn't return and she wouldn't go after him. He got what he deserved for acting like that in public, and of all places, a wedding! Now that she was unattached, her brain kept pestering her to stay next to the lonely Sherlock. "Go make sure he's alright, after all the man is suffering the after effects of a concussion. He should be monitored; John's too busy being part of his wedding to play Doctor. Go! Talk to him, he's lonely." her mind pushed her into seeking out Sherlock's company.

Succumbing to her subconscious thoughts, Molly made her way to where he was standing against the wall away from the crowds. "Hey, Sherlock," Molly placed her hand lightly on his for a moment, "How is your head feeling?" The man only gave a noncommittal humph and shrugged, his personal health wasn't worth a conversation. That would be "oh so dull and ordinary." Undeterred she pressed on, "what are you doing standing in the corner here doing nothing? Do you want a drink?"

"Ah, Molly," he replied catching her hand before she moved it away, "I suppose I will have one. That's what people do at weddings, don't they? Eat, drink, and dance?"

"Yes Sherlock, and you're going to be part of it. Come on, let's get a glass. This is John and Mary's night, they would want us to enjoy ourselves." His pathologist looped her arm around his elbow and together they strode over to the drinks. "Here, drink up." Molly placed a glass in his hand. At one sniff he knew it was The White Wine, the one he secretly liked best out of the other choices Mary had listed during the reception planning. He didn't care much for alcohol, but a small quantity on the rare occasion pleased him, especially when the wine tasted good. _Especially when it was His wine. _

"You're certainly enjoying the drink, you help with the wine selection, didn't you?" Molly commented watching his expression soften as he took the second small sip. "Yes, John needed another opinion since he's not into the peculiarities of different wines. Tedious really, it's all a matter of opinion whether one prefers red or white and dry or sweet. Why do you ask?"

Molly stared into her drink for a moment before replying, "because this is the same wine we drank at your flat that one year at holiday season." Sherlock turned and faced her, those words he would have least expected to come from her lips. "And," he gestured with his hand. "And when Tom came over, and the night of the engagement party. I know this brand is your favourite Sherlock. John's not into wine tasting but you are, and I always know you pick the same one. The same sauvignon blanc. Same year too."

_How did Molly know that!? Mycroft doesn't even know, and he was the one who introduced me to my first glass of the Sauvignon blanc at our parent's anniversary. It was a tolerable gathering with a minimal guest list. Yes that is my favourite drink because it it dry and not at all over bearing like most other wines. Why would Molly remember such details, such trivial details?_

_New note. Date: Wedding Night Reception. Fact: Molly remembers the different occasions I have drunk my favourite white wine and the year too-Sauvignon blanc. File: Molly Hooper. Folder: Habits and Skills. Saved._

"Molly, how did..." The confused consulting detective started but was cut off, "Don't ask me now Sherlock. Just know I'm not like you observing and deductions, but I do pay attention to details. Forget about it and enjoy the wine."

"I must do something," Sherlock suddenly spoke surprising his pathologist, "I must speak with the deejay. Come please." Sherlock offered his arm just as a gentleman would, it was John's night so good behaviours might grant him more privileges for experimenting in the flat with strange specimens, well stranger ones at least.

Molly happily took his arm again and went with the man. She was curious as to why Sherlock would want to speak with him, deejays weren't on his lists of people to chat with. Sometimes she thought the man only opened hints mouth to insult someone, like he did with Tom...well that was understandable. Usually Sherlock would get someone else on work for him...sometimes he was too much like his brother Mycroft. Those two childish brothers would let everything in the world happen before acknowledging they were, in fact, very alike in mannerism. Demanding everything, but never actually doing it himself...

"Ladies and gentlemen, could I have your attention please," Sherlock announced, "I have something to very important to say...A vow...I have never said one and never plan to again..." Molly stood against the wall listening intently to Sherlock's heart speak, not just his mouth. Her concentration didn't falter a second as the talented musician tucked his Estella^^ under his chin and let her sing. It was an enchanting moment, almost calling it "magical" wouldn't be far from the truth. The guest stood in awe as the newly weds glided across the floor to the self-composed waltz by the one and only.

As Sherlock poured his emotions into Estella's voice, Molly couldn't help but think about the lies people spread about that genius.

_Everyone knew Sherlock as cold and stoic. He is without the capability of showing emotion. Everyone saw that side of him, but few people have ever heard him showcase his musical talent. Music is what feelings sound like. How wrong everyone is, they shouldn't be so quick to judge. "That Freak" or " The Psychopath" does have a heart, probably more than they themselves have. _

Estella's voice hung in the air long after John dipped his wife and kissed her. As the guests applauded, the musician quietly slipped behind the deejay and packed his beloved Star safely away. Taking the first empty chair closest to the sound stage, Sherlock glued himself there effectively blocking out the horrid "modern" music whilst refilling those loose folders.

Just as predicted, a yellow bubble floated closer and closer to him taking his hand pulling him upright. "Molly," he protested, "what are you doing? I'm busy." He tried to pull his hand away and sit, but the determined young lady held her ground. "Sherlock, this is a wedding. This is John and Mary's wedding night, please make it enjoyable for everyone, including yourself. Don't just sit there, come dance with me."

"No."

"Please, just one dance. Listen, this is one you know how to dance to. For me?"

"Fine. Just this one." He gritted his teeth as he let himself be dragged on the dance floor. "I'm going to regret this," he mumbled. "No you won't, you'll thank me." Molly countered. He huffed an annoyed sigh and took his position.

They were just about to start, "But this won't work," Sherlock forced out from his unhappy expression. He dropped his hands and backed away from his dance partner, " In case you've forgotten, let me refresh your memory. I can barely see my own hand right in front of my face. I need to see where I'm going if I'm going to lead. Go find someone who can see properly to dance with you, I'm going back to my seat."

She gripped his wrist firmly, "Stay. Don't be silly Sherlock, I haven't forgotten. You can still lead. Don't worry, I won't let anyone run into us or we into them." Another annoyed sigh escaped his lips as he conceded, so taking her hands again they assume the beginning position waiting for the next downbeat.

Spinning his pathologist round and round the floor made him dizzy, but he didn't care. A passion for dancing was a well-guarded secret of his. Dancing with Molly was fun, she was right- I will thank her for dragging me on the dance floor.

_New note. Date: Wedding Night Reception. Fact: Molly can dance well. She's not the best, but knows quite a bit of many different styles. File: Molly Hooper. Folder: Habits and Skills. Saved_

As they danced Molly nibbled on her lip and thought, "How could I ever forget such a thing? It's a monumental change, but that doesn't mean every single thing has to change drastically- only some."

Not only did the two dance that one song, they also stayed for the next three songs of which the third was a slow dance.

As the third songs's melody progressed Molly slowly tipped her head closer and closer to Sherlock's shoulder.

"See, I told you this would be alright," she whispered, "You dance really well, far better than I do. Where did you learn to dance?"

"No Molly I don't see," he answered good-humouredly and guiltily allowing himself to take in her sweet lotion scent, "yes this is enjoyable. I don't even recall the last time I had done so. Must have been some pompous political gathering Mycroft forced me to attend so deleted it." He scoffed and shuddered at that vague memory. "I was taught early on, actually both of us were. I didn't mind it much, there were many good results from those dancing experiment such as..."

:-:

The two unattached ones stood side by side all night long. Dancing brought his spirits up considerably and even engaged in some civil ad sensible discussion about chemical compositions of some obscure element. Molly was cognisant of Sherlock unsaid wish to appear, as he commonly states "perfectly fine", but was in fact doing his best in ignoring an incessant pounding on his brain.

Ever the tough one you always have to be Sherlock. It's alright to say "I'm not fine." You've got friends that are more than willing to catch you before you stumble.

Little did either know that the Watsons were keeping their watchful eyes on the two all evening. Mary knew enough about Molly to know that petite lady could reign in the man-child's temper with a single word. She made a mental note to get some tips from her, since living in the flat above him would prove to be a test of her patience and kindness. John was grateful for Molly's presence with Sherlock. She kept him company and from doing something that might scare the guest away.

All in all the night ended splendidly, even a short stroll was thrown in down to the verandah with the four friends chatting away about the day when the guests started to trickle away.

:-:

**A-N: Thanks for reading! Summer has come at last! There will be more frequent updates, well, that's at least what I'm planning on.**

** Any comments would be lovely, just like always. :) **

**^^Please read "A Heart One Would Never Expect", Estella is explained in more detail as the main idea. **

****This is Platonic 'Sherlolly' only! Perhaps once this story is finished, I will write a Romantic 'Sherlolly', but not in this one.****


	5. Honeymoon on the Isle

**Chapter 5**

* * *

_All in all the night ended splendidly, even a short stroll was thrown in down to the verandah with the four friends chatting away about the day when the guests started to trickle away._

* * *

The Watson's honeymoon was Mycroft's gift to them. He had all the arrangements made from flight tickets and to dining locations, so the newlywed only had to show up at the proper time in the proper attire. The lovebirds were spending a lovely week on the Emerald Isle taking in the best of nature and culture. Neither one wanted to leave the beautiful place and hurl themselves headlong into the rat-race of daily living. Well, that thought was a week away. They couldn't be bothered with it now, and couldn't be bothered with any other cares in the world except each other. The world would have to be patient for just seven days.

On arriving the first day, there the two spent time wandering around as tourists visiting the popular areas. A good bit of the memory space on the camera was gone by sunset. It was replaced with memorable moments of breath-taking scenery, romantic kisses frozen in time , or "silly selfies" (with more of the latter ones on the memory card than decent normal smiling photos).

On the second day, the two decided for a nice relaxing day at the park and picnic. Mary sighed contently and nuzzled against her doctor's warm embrace wrapped around her shoulders as they walked the trail hand in hand. "I don't want this to end. Can we just stay on cloud-9 forever?"

"Mary dear, I'm always on cloud-9 because I have you. You are my cloud-9." John responded kissing her hand. She blushed and pecked his cheek.

Then suddenly a rainbow fluttered in the corner of her eye.

"Look!" Mary gasped in delight and pointed. "The bird! Isn't it beautiful? Those wings!"

"Kind of. It's nice, but I think you are beautiful." John countered wearing a childish grin.

Mary swatted his cheek playfully, "Stop it. You're acting so silly."

John pouted, "What?! Can't I tell my sweet wife how stunning she is?"

An older couple just happened upon them as John spoke, the older quipped causing the younger to turn a bit pink, "Course ye can, young man. You tell her every day. Don't ever forget it. My Lovely here has heard it every single day for the past sixty-five years. Today marks the sixty-sixth and the day of our great-granddaughter's arrival." He gave her a kiss, "What about you two, what's your story?"

Mary chimed in as John worked hard on turning back to a normal shade of natural skin tone pink, "Splendid, you must be so proud. We two? I think I've been called "Beautiful", "Wonderful", or some variation of it more than sixty-six times in the last two days that we've officially been together. "

"Oh. What a dear! You hear that hun?" the wife poked her husband good-naturally. "Congratulations! That was one special date, wasn't it? The dress, reception, and dancing." The wife took Mary's hand and squeezed it. "You've got a good man as your husband. Turning to John she continued, "Live long and prosper. May you two celebrate that date for many more decades. Enjoy the trail, there's a breath-taking view further up those steps!"

The two families parted ways with each one of them having their spirits lifted at the little reminder of there is still such a thing called "happily ever after." Not wanting the joyful feeling to leave Mary asked softly, "What do you think of that, dear doctor? That lovely couple with a large family. Where do you think we'll be sixty years from now?"

"I don't know," John mused for a moment taking in the serene ambiance, "But I do know I want our life to be like theirs. Full of adventure. Being happy together. Besides, I'd love to be there for our great-granddaughter's baby being born."

"So do I... our great-granddaughter's child...hmmm, what do you think the baby will look like?" She took her husband hand and wrapped her other arm around as they sauntered through the trees and bushes up to the place with the gorgeous view. They made their way to the special spot the older couple had pointed out earlier and decided to take lunch on the grass there.

* * *

The day before their expected departure, the Watsons visited the ocean in the morning, and had private fine dinning in the evening at the luxurious restaurant graciously provided by Mycroft. Their table was located on the rooftop with little diamonds glittering above them on a black curtain and three little flames complimenting the twinkling jewels.

His Mary wore a medium-sized sapphire heart looped in the chain complimenting her floor-length dress of the same colour dusted in sparkles and hemmed ruffles. Her John looked handsome in his white-tie three-piece lent by none other than the one and only who thrived in the expensive bubble. The seafood dinner was heavenly, savouring each bite as if it were their last. Who knew if they would ever each such fine food again in such an exquisite place?

* * *

During their brief absence, Molly promised John she would to go by Sherlock's flat every day after work, and make sure he was still taking care of himself. Like any sensible adult would. But as one who didn't need constant reminding. But of course he wasn't sensible. Sensible was the last thing to ever expect from the man-child.

_Sometimes I think he would be two seconds away from death by exhaustion and starvation before he would bother about it._

"Sherlock? I'm here. Where are you?" Molly called out not bothering to hide the exasperation in her voice. It was Day Four of checking up on her friend. He found answering when being summoned too dull and ordinary for his liking.

No response.

_Typical. Sometimes I despise him and other times I think he's the greatest person ever. _

"Sherlock! Answer me! I don't have time for games." Molly grew more and more impatient with the childish daily Hide-and-Seek game.

_Still no response. _

By the fifth or six time Molly called out whilst searching the flat and speaking with Mrs. Hudson, her annoyance had turned in desperation.

"Sherlock dear, please come out of hiding and answer us," Mother Hen beckoned her tenant.

Again, the only answer was Faithful Silence.

The two women paced the space between the stairs leading to 221B.

"Where do you think he's gone? He just finished solving a case at the wedding, so he shouldn't have anywhere to be. It was made very clear that only archived cases were acceptable to give him." Mrs. Hudson shrugged and patted Molly's hand, "I don't know honey, do you think we should call Lestrade? He might know. Maybe they're together at NSY doing...well...whatever they do down there with their detective work. "

At the suggestion, Molly immediately dug the mobile out from her bag and speed-dialled Lestrade. Whilst the mobile rang, Mrs. Hudson went for her landline and dialled Sherlock's, hoping one of them would have success.

"Oh! Finally. Hello Lestrade, this is Molly. Do you know where Sherlock is? He's not at home, is he with you at the Yard?"

"What!? Oh, this not good, not good at all. He can't just wander off without telling anyone," Molly looked over to the land-lady who shook her head indicating Sherlock didn't answer. Lines of worry grew distinct on the sweet lady's expression. Molly gave a sad smile to her before returning to the DI, "We're not like John, who can figure out where he is in an instant. Mrs. Hudson phoned his mobile but he didn't answer. Do you have any ideas of where he might be? Any?"

* * *

**A-N: Sorry for the delay, but I had a hard time trying to plan the storyline. Hope you enjoyed it. Sorry for the rubbish ending, but I couldn't find a proper place to break the train of thought, except here. Update for the next chapter will be faster since I have a good portion of it written. **

**Sherlock is being his annoying little self (as usual) and will return to the flat in one piece.**

**Comments/Follows/Favourites are greatly appreciated! **

**:)**


	6. Sherlock's Afternoon Outing

**This addition was inspired by the lovely comments and messages left by some amazing readers: _[AJP910]_ and _[paula. a. rushing]_ Thank you both! **

I just so happened to have a small about of time to write this bit, unlike usually when I'm otherwise engaged.

* * *

**Short Addendum to Chapter 5**

**Sherlock's Point of View**

* * *

Sherlock was bored out of his mind, John-his personal entertainment system- was away and would stay away for another three miserable days. "I can't sulk here forever. I've done enough of that- it's too dull and ordinary. All useful files in my Mind Palace have been reorganised and refiled away in perfect order. John's hid his gun *again*! Ugh! I need some stimulant! No, I promised him cold turkey on the bad habit. _Why did I promise that?!_ Mrs. Hudson took my skull *again* as punishment for ruining her drapes with corrosives. I said I was sorry twice and mentioned a nice experiment with the fabric, that's what people do right? I'm tired of playing Estella. My left arm hurts from bowing. My fingers hurt…fingers… FINGERS! That's it!"

Sherlock leapt up from his sprawled out state on the settee and dashed for his coat and scarf carefully minding the pile of books and papers scattered on the rug.

As soon as the eager consulting detective flung the front door open a random surge of strong gusts of wind bit his face making it hard for him to flag down a cabbie.

_Why did cabs have to be all black? Black blends in with everything here! Why couldn't they have been fashioned like the New York taxies? YELLOW and BLACK? Mostly yellow, not black. It would make these cabs so much easier to spot amidst a sea of traffic. Make it so much easier for me too! Mycroft is SO inconsiderate, well, I guess some things don't ever change. _

He growled in frustration.

Catching his tongue quickly, Sherlock swallowed several choice adjectives. He refused to succumb to his emotions or resorting to vulgarity when regarding his failing sight. Whining and carrying on a fit about it wouldn't change a thing, so it was just a waste of energy really...dull and ordinary.

At last a cab answered his hand, but getting in was a slight problem. Again Sherlock's mind harassed the poor cars, "Cabs shouldn't be black! At least make the handles yellow or white or something! Make things easier for everyone." Groping around for the handle brought the man's confidence level down a couple notches even though the ones passing by didn't notice at all. "St. Barts please," he demanded politely to the cabbie. During the ride there, Sherlock's nimble long bony fingers never left the door latch. He certainly didn't want a repeat of earlier. "Here you are chap," announced the driver pulling Sherlock out of his pouting mind.

The good cabbie unknowingly "saved him face" by making it easy for the money exchange to happen without blowing his cover. The last thing Sherlock wanted was someone's sympathy or pity. He loathed it. It disgusted him. People had better things to do than concern themselves with his well-being. Blindness was nothing significant to him, sure it meant a drastic change-but not everything.

Sherlock allowed himself to muse on his condition as he headed for the morgue, "Obviously the term blindness means I lack sight, even Anderson knows what that means... or at least I hope he does... That man shocks me more and more every single time we meet. It truly is a wonder how he even functions working for the Yard."

Standing in front of the morgue door, Sherlock reached out for the handle only to painfully smack his knuckle against the glass.

_Ugh! Again?! Door are my enemy. Mycroft my arch-enemy, but Doors seems to be working its way up that proverbial ladder. _

"Molly?" Called out the detective through the door, which just so happened to be locked, "Open the door please. I need my finger experiment and the solution, and you promised me more cadavers. I'm expecting them. Molly! Where are you? I need you to read me the results AND open this door! Molly!" He gave up after pounding on the door a few more times, and headed back the way he came taking the lift instead of the stairs like the first time.

_Mental note: Avoid Stairs. They are also The Enemy. _

Pacing around the tiny cubicle, Sherlock shouted abuse to the machine, "Today just isn't my day for anything to go right, is it? First the annoying black cabs, then frustrating doors, and now stairs! You! Lift Better not malfunction," he emphasised with a jab on the floor number buttons, "I'm trusting you to get me to the ground floor in one piece, I have things to do. Can't be bothered with something so mundane as a lift malfunction."

* * *

For a man whose sight was greatly reduced to a mere collage of cracked of stain glass chips, Sherlock prided himself in mostly managing the chaos of pedestrians and light poles without tripping or bumping into things. There were a couple times he misjudged the kerb distance or faltered in his step over an uneven part of the pavement. Otherwise, his long confident strides did considerably to his advantage, people shied away from his path. His Mind Palace immediately pulled up a layout of his area mapping out the fastest and safest way to the book store. It wasn't too far and he really was trying the whole black cab business, besides walking gave him an opportunity to update his internal map.

_Right, forty-two steps from hospital to the first intersection. The light change should happen in about 3 seconds, unless Mycroft poked his nose where it shouldn't have been in._

_Good, only thirty-six steps from intersection to the other side with the warning signal happened half way through crossing._

Such mental notes were carefully saved in their own Mind Palace folders labelled "Useful Information"

* * *

"Again with the doors!" Sherlock kicked the door twice on purpose before finally opening it. He had a layout of this place carefully tucked away in his massive memory storage. It was a haven for him on many occasions in the past. When he needed to get away from the world this is where he sought refuge. No one ever remembers book-stores, they're too busy thinking about the obvious places like the park.

Making his way to the back of the room, Sherlock found the store owner and asked for his help. He didn't mind asking for help, but felt strange doing so.

"Ah! Sherlock! Good to see you again. How have you been?" his voice echoed off the walls.

"I'm fine," Sherlock dead-panned, "I'm here for some very specific material."

"Anything for my favourite person. What can I help you with?" The store keeper clapped his hand on the taller man causing him to jump back a little at the unexpected touch. "I'm here for some information on reading Braille," he sated flatly.

"Well, it's not everyday you hear that. Is this for one of your cases or something?"

"No. I know someone that's all," Sherlock turned his head signalling the discussion was closed.

"Right, just follow me then." The keeper led him to a nice selection of material in the book store's storage room.

After a few minuets of browsing through the selection, Sherlock left the store pleased with the materials he bought and headed home eager to explore their content.

* * *

**A-N: I hope you enjoyed this little bit. **

**Comment, Favourites, Follows are always the highlights of my day.**

**Thanks for reading!**

**[[As a side note, I do try my best to avoid writing cliff hangers. I think they're quite cruel in coercing a reader to keep reading. They should be interested in the story enough to keep reading, rather than the storyline making them.]]**

**Cheers!**


	7. This is Y-E-S

**Chapter 6**

* * *

_"What!? Oh, this not good, not good at all. He can't just wander off without telling anyone," Molly looked over to the land-lady who shook her head indicating Sherlock didn't answer. Lines of worry grew distinct on the sweet lady's expression. Molly gave a sad smile to her before returning to the DI, "We're not like John, who can figure out where he is in an instant. Mrs. Hudson phoned his mobile but he didn't answer. Do you have any ideas of where he might be? Any?"_

* * *

Leave it to Chance for the three said people to keep missing each other on the street simply arriving a moment after the other person had left.

Molly decided on walking through the nearby streets asking around if anyone had seen Sherlock pass by whilst Mrs. Hudson would wait at home in case he decided to show up there. Lestrade wandered around the area close to the Yard for a bit before heading to St. Barts to continue his search.

_Surely people couldn't miss him. Tall with dark hair and his signature Belstaff billowing behind him. How does a person not remember a bloke with those features?_

At last Sherlock returned home to the wonderful sound of Mother Hen pecking his cheek then immediately threatening him with severe consequences, "Hello Sherlock dear, how lovely of you to come. Stand right there and don't move a muscle. I will be right back. I mean it young man. You. Stay. Here." She emphasised the "here" with a snap of her heel on the wooden floor. Immediately she dialled the other two, who arrived at her front door minutes later, then returned to her young tenant stranded in the hallway.

"Sherlock! Where in the world have you been?" Mother Hudson took the bag out from her son's hand and gave the hand a hard smack. "You had us all worried, especially Molly-who was expecting you to be home when she came. What do you have to say for yourself? Hmm? You should be ashamed of your behaviour!" The hand received another beating. "Just go about gallivanting clear all over the city without bothering about those who care for you. You just don't do things like that to your friends Sherlock. For crying out loud, you didn't even bring your mobile, so we had NO WAY to contact you!" And another loud smack following 'no way' on both hands. "If you had waited just ten minutes later before showing up, your brother would have been called in. You really didn't want that to happen, did you?" She finished her rant placing her hands on her hips tapping her foot impatiently. "Anything you'd like to say for yourself, young man?"

Sherlock visibly shuddered at mention of Mycroft's name. His overbearing "Big Brother" didn't need to him his eyes train on his every movement. Suddenly all forms of communication fled his brain, he didn't know what to say to his landlady that would calm her down except, "I wish John was here, he'd know how to fix it. He's good with that stuff...the emotional stuff...", but thankfully those words did not leave his lips. There would have been more smacked to his poor abide hands. Instead, the tongue-tied man of all six-feet felt two centimetres tall. He didn't mean to worry her or any of his other friends, just didn't think about his actions. _I didn't think my absence would affect anyone, I always return home. You should know that. I always come back. I promise not to do it ever again. I will tell someone before I disappear. I am truly sorry._

"I'm sorry Mrs. Hudson, I will remember to take my mobile with me and to call before I disappear. Yes, I will also apologise to Molly for making her worry...and to Lestrade too," his mind finally found the words to verbalise.

* * *

Satisfied with the response, Mrs. Hudson allowed her son to go the flat and wait for the two explorers to return. He would have a lot of explaining to do she chastised setting down a fresh pot of tea and scones just as Molly and Lestrade barrelled in and took the stairs two at a time.

"Sherlock Holmes!" Lestrade bellowed causing the tea cups to rattle, "What have you gotten yourself into this time? What is the point of having a mobile if you don't bother to answer it?" Molly bit back anger and tears when she saw the detective huddled up in his chair still bundled in his coat and scarf. _How dare he do that to her! Making her worry like that. Making everyone worry about him!_

Molly pulled a book out of the bag and sat on the arm of his chair then gently asked, "Is this where you've been, Sherlock?"

A barely audible "Yes" emitted from the deep voice.

"Oh, ok. Why didn't you wait for me to come? We could have gone together? I came here and you were gone, had us all quite worried." Molly ran her hand down the foreign language closing here eyes for a moment to take it in fully. _Oh Sherlock...just let your pride fall, I want to help. Let me. Please._

The still dazzling pair of eyes belonging to the huddle up man squinted to the petite lady with hope and fear at the same time. Her fuzzy silhouette shone bright against the harsh rainbow of white light filling all the space behind her. "Molly Hooper," he placed his hand over hers on the new language, "Will you help me learn? I know it will be an extreme amount of effort on your part and things will not always go well and things might end up broken and I might be angry and you might give up and..."

Sherlock was cut off with Molly guiding his hand to the top of the page, "The is the letter Y, Sherlock. Now E and S." She kissed his hand for a moment.

If hearts had the ability to explode, Sherlock's would have shattered into millions of tiny fragments. He was beyond feeling jubilant at her simple answer.

_This is Y E S._

_Molly, you have always counted, now you are counted to me more than ever before._

* * *

THE FOLLOWING WEEK

Reluctantly leaving the dazzling Emerald Isle, the Watsons boarded the aeroplane departing from Cloud-9.

_Here we go. Back into the real world. Another tip of the hat to Mycroft for picking them up at the airport and dropping them back to the flat._

John dumped their cases unceremoniously in the corner then took his usual seat with Mary in 'her seat' on his lap. Gesturing at all the material sprawled across the table he greeted the pair, "Hey Sherlock. Molly, nice to see you here. What are you two doing?"

"What does it LOOK like I'm doing? Use your eyes John. Don't be so ordinary. You're above all that. Really. Do try." Sherlock snapped and rolled his eyes before fumbling around the table for a different book, tossing the one he had prior carelessly on the floor.

"Ok, Ok, no need to get all feisty," his flatmate shot back without missing a beat, clearly not missing the verbal abuse he had been privileged to take leave of for a week. "This is interesting." John took a cream-coloured book off the table and perused through it. "When did you get all this?"

"When you were away, obviously," came the bored curt reply.

"Sherlock! Be nice, John's just curious. Don't ruin his good spirit on just coming just back from the honeymoon," Molly interjected whilst leaving her spot next to Sherlock's on the settee to retrieve the hazardous item off the floor. "Don't," Mary cut off Molly's movements and picked up the book thumbing through it before handing it back, "You shouldn't be doing that. It's not right for him to treat you like this. Don't let him do this to you. He knows better."

"It's fine. I'm been putting with his outlandish ways since Day One of meeting him at the morgue. Sherlock went to the bookstore and bought them. I offered to help him out." She took the "child's" hand and forced the book into his palms. "How many times have I told you Sherlock? Don't throw things. Do you want what happened previously to happen again? You know tripping over things scattered about the flat never goes well."

John raised an eyebrow and mouthed 'what'? Molly just shook her head and levelled her eyes with John saying 'I will tell you later' look' so John simply said, "Ah. That's very nice of you to offer. Well, this does beg the question, Why? Why are you doing this, Sherlock?"

"You know I can't stand sounding like a broke record, don't make me. Think! Use your five senses. Actually observe and make logical inferences. It isn't THAT difficult. Has becoming a married man diminished your brain activity? (If that is so, I will never marry!) I think the honeymoon was detrimental to your health. Exactly this!" Sherlock jabbed a bony finger in John's direction. "You spent too long away from London and now this... the mush you call a brain is hardly half of what you had before." He scoffed, returned to his book, and tapped Molly's knee for her to start reading again the alphabet.

Mary and John watched silently as Molly patiently guided his fingers over the alphabet and numbers, reading each one aloud a few times. It was certainly not an easy feat to master-reading by fingertips.

It was a heartbreaking yet heartwarming afternoon spent. During the time spent diligently learning, a lengthy and emotionally-bottled conversation about the two hard at work learning Braille was discussed between the Watsons subtle expressions. Molly later joined in with an occasional scowl or eyebrow raised. She learnt quick not to move her head because Sherlock felt that slight movement and asked 'why did you move?', to which just made the three other faces in the room turn hot with embarrassment.

_How do you tell your friend you're talking about him by taking advantage of his disadvantage? It felt wrong, like betraying his trust in you?_

* * *

**A-N: Thank you so much for following, commenting, or favouriting! **

**I hope you enjoyed this. Next chapter is mostly written, will be posted ASAP. **


	8. A Promise to Help

**Chapter 7**

* * *

It was a heartbreaking yet heart-warming afternoon spent. During those hours spent diligently learning, a lengthy and emotionally-bottled conversation about the two hard at work learning Braille was being discussed between the Watsons' subtle expressions. Molly later realised the conversation was taking place and joined in with an occasional scowl or eyebrow raised. She learned quick not to move her head because Sherlock felt that slight movement and asked 'why did you move?' to which just made the three other faces in the room turn hot with embarrassment.

_How do you tell your friend you're talking about him by taking advantage of his disadvantage? It felt wrong, like betraying his trust in you?_

* * *

Later on that night whilst Sherlock was lost in musical thoughts with his Estella, John took the opportunity to ask what was weighing on his mind ever since he arrived. "So," he prompted and cleared his throat softly, "will you explain all of it to me, everything leading up to this point? I get the feeling Sherlock isn't too keen on talking about any of this unless it's just you alone," gesturing to the scattered materials on the kitchen table. Molly made tea quickly, and then conceded to explain the man's unusual behaviour to the Watsons.

Taking a deep breath Molly began her tale, "He went to the bookstore all by himself. Took a cab and disappeared for the whole afternoon without bothering to bring his mobile either. Thank goodness he was fine, I can't even imagine if something did happen to him. I noticed a bruised hand, well, just the knuckles. I suspect he was upset and punched something, and not the result of a fall…but what if, I mean the streets are crowded and hazardous things everywhere…" She scrubbed her face trying to rid the scary thought of Sherlock lying all alone injured in some unknown place with no one to help him. Mary patted Molly's hand, "Molly. Molly, it's alright. Don't think about it. It didn't happen; we will all have a good long chat with him to prevent it from this happening again, ok?"

The pathologist nodded, "Nearly gave me a heart attack when I walked in and couldn't find him anywhere. Should have seen the state we were in, trying to locate him, we don't have your acquired gift of "internal Sherlock-GPS" John, unfortunately. Took us a couple of very long hours trying to guess out where he might have gone. I searched high and low for him around this area, whilst Lestrade staked out at the Yard and Barts. The bookstore was last places we would have thought about. Would you have thought to look there?!"

Returning to a softer voice Molly continued, "Mrs. Hudson cornered him as soon as a he walked through the front door, and phone us announcing the good news of his return. Apparently, she gave him a good run-down because he looked absolutely and completely miserable by the time Lestrade and I showed up. We were barely five minutes away, so she must have said something powerful that finally went through to that strange mind of his." Her shoulders slumped over as Molly finished and sipped her tea dejectedly. "When would he learn not to act so wild? To act like a proper and mature adult."

Mary shrugged sadly.

John buried his face in his palms.

Molly sighed.

_The conversation was trailing off, but so much more needed to be said. So much that wanted to be left unsaid, perhaps if it isn't mentioned- it isn't real…_

John took one of the books and ran his fingers over the letters. "Braille, I should have known," he chastised himself. Why didn't I anticipate his actions, prevent all this? I mean, I didn't know he would readily accept this. I had thought about it, but he's been fighting every single form of change, even in the slightest, from the time I found out his prognosis. Medicine is of no help to him now, and he knows it so seeking their expertise on this at hospital is useless. He refuses to visit them. Getting his phone setting on the automated voice took some strong convincing from Lestrade and me, we had to mention over and over on just how important it was that he could understand text messages, especially about the cases."

Mary nodded solemnly, picking up where her husband left off, "Yes, when you're at works Molly, we two will drag Sherlock for an outing so he doesn't destroy the flat. That in itself is the lesser of two evils- in a manner of speaking. It saves him from getting too restless, but he refuses help. Doesn't really hit anything. We watch his steps carefully, but pedestrians who aren't paying attention throw him off balance. Yet, won't accept a helping hand. I'm relieved he finally confides in you now. It's better this way."

The young doctor agreed, "Yes, at last he does. He won't admit a word of it, but I know he's terrified. Who can say anything against him? I would be too."

Then Molly went on and explained more of Sherlock's behaviour prior to that huge fiasco, John felt worry building inside him. He knew better than to call out disabilities as hindrances and limitations to independence. The shoulder and leg held him back for quite a time, but that didn't mean being reckless when said limbs weren't in pain anymore. The soldier thought about his own history. At the time, the psychosomatic limp only limited his mobility; it didn't deprive him of freedom though. It was the same with Sherlock, his sight was fading, but only that part of him. He could foresee Sherlock getting himself killed over an insignificant incident (compared to something dangerous- given his line of work) merely because the man didn't know how to stay away from danger, but of course the pompous child would only claim, "Danger comes to me. It's not like I purposely go looking for it. Don't be so dull John."

_There was a vast different between the two. Freedom and being reckless._

Sherlock would know the different; his friend would make sure he would before the next time he leaves the flat. The three in the kitchen set about making a list of things to straighten out with man in the other room.

* * *

As a united front, they placed themselves in their respective seats before John called his flatmate's attention, "Sherlock, please sit. We have something to discuss with you." Molly added, "please don't take this lightly."

Sherlock complied without uttering a word, laying Estella carefully across his lap.

"Yes? Obviously, it is a serious matter or the three of you wouldn't sit here so silently. I have a string of possible topics that might be discussed. Shall I list them, or will you tell me?" Sherlock scoffed at being forced into this discussion.

"Sherlock," Molly chided gently, "We only want to help and if we all agree to do things the same way, then everyone will benefit from it. Ok?"

He strummed an augmented fifth chord Estella.

Each person took a turn in describing how things would be handled in the future: what rules were set for going outside the flat, the organisation system around the flat to make sure every object would be returned to the designated place after use, what kind of experiments were acceptable to perform in the flat without breaking fire marshal regulations…. Later on, John and Mary described in detail the progress of moving into the upstairs flat, and made sure the consulting detective was welcome there at any time at any hour with the only condition of – under no circumstances are you ever allowed to pick the lock. He mulled it over and finally deemed it as, "an acceptable agreement." Molly spent her half of the discussion reassuring Sherlock that learning Braille wouldn't be a bother at all. "I've always wanted to learn a new language, and now I am. I'm willing Sherlock, I really will help you. Promise. We all will.

There were many tears of frustration and a bit of laughter before finally coming to agreement. At last when the first rays poked out from behind the curtains acceptable progress was made to everyone's benefit-Sherlock of course being the most.

* * *

**A-N: Hope you enjoyed this chapter. As always-comments (guest comments too!) ,follows,favourites make my day. **

**Thanks for reading!**


	9. Discussing Monet and Africa

**Chapter 8**

* * *

_Molly spent her half of the discussion reassuring Sherlock that learning Braille wouldn't be a bother at all. "I've always wanted to learn a new language, and now I am. I'm willing Sherlock, I really will help you. Promise. We all will."_

_There were many tears of frustration and a bit of laughter before finally coming to agreement. At last when the first rays poked out from behind the curtains acceptable progress was made to everyone's benefit-Sherlock of course being the most. _

* * *

During the course of the discussion John, Mary, and Molly unknowingly played Musical Chairs. Mary migrated into John's personal space on the couch using him as a pillow, whilst Molly perched like a bird on the armrest of the couch closest side to Sherlock's chair. Said man was huddle up on his chair with only his black mop poking out from under the dressing gown, and a pair of delicate hands cradling Estella. The four made progress in establishing some rules to which all would abide by, especially pertaining to the safety of both tenants and the flat. John refused to give in when Sherlock voiced his indignation of his explosive experiments to cease being performed within the walls of the kitchen.

"They're dangerous and questionable things go flying everywhere. I want a flat to live in, Mary does too." John protested rather loudly with expressive gestures.

"It called explosive for a reason John, those "things" are a combination of volatile liquids. Besides I am always careful to avoid affecting too much of our living space," his flatmate dead-panned. "Don't roll your eyes at me John, I know you just did. My logic is sound. You can't argue with that."

John looked like a scowling fish. Sherlock poked his head out and grinned like the Cheshire cat.

Now, now children. Let's not argue," Molly chastised. "Sherlock can perform his more questionable and dangerous experiments at hospital. I'm sure the director wouldn't mind too much if we used one of the spare lab rooms. Agreeable for you John? Sherlock?"

"Yes," one replied eagerly whilst the other begrudgingly.

"Glad that's settled, now who's hungry? I'm famished!" Mary piped in as she gathered the empty teacups.

Everyone chimed in a response, even Sherlock who untangled himself at the turn of a more light-hearted topic. "Alright! English Breakfast coming in a jiffy."

"As the ladies are preparing breakfast, if you wouldn't mind, I'd like to examine your eyes Sherlock. Is that alright? It's been some time since the doctor's visit."

Surprisingly to John, Sherlock agreed without a fuss, "Very well, better coming from you than from some strange doctor at hospital. I dislike them far too much. Give me my case first though, I need to put Estella away, wouldn't want to risk anything happening to her."

"Here Sherlock," Molly placed his hand on the case handle whilst John went to retrieve the medical bag from his room, "speaking of which, will you play for us later on today? I really liked the new piece you're working on, especially the fast part. One of your own compositions, I assume?"

He deftly cleaned and stored away Estella in a few fluid movements, "If you wish, I don't mind. Yes it is my newest one, just thought of it a couple of days ago. I don't have a title for it yet."

"Thanks Sherlock, I'm going to help Mary now. Want anything particular kind pastry eat along with what Mary's making?"

"No thanks. Just whatever is available will be fine."

She gave his hand a quick pat before shuffling to Mary. "You promised, I want to hear it again."

"Me too! It was a great piece." Chimed in John hearing Molly's words as he passed her by with bag in hand.

* * *

Pulling up a chair beside his patient John explained, "Alright, Sherlock. So here's how it'll be..."

Sherlock only fidgeted slightly whilst John evaluated the prognosis of his patient's eyes. He closed up the bag and crossed his arms loosely together, "Since the blindness is not the result of injury to the eye itself or the optic nerve, you still have a decent amount of pupillary light response. A good advantage for you. I would consider wearing sunglasses when going outside, even on a very cloudy day. Or in extremely bright rooms. It would be best, less chance of harm to the eye itself**."

He nodded solemnly. "I believe you have a point. I have been keeping record of experiments on myself for the past weeks. Your observations match my data. "

John quirked an eyebrow and coughed, but opted not to voice his unhappiness about self-experimentation.

Taking the doctor's silence as an answer he continued, "I have noted the effects of different kinds of light and their intensities has what kind of results on what I am able to see."

"That's interesting. Well then could you describe to me what this room looks like right now?"

"Well," Sherlock hummed trying to find the words in describing best what state their flat was in, "obviously it is day time, I would wager eight in the morning given the length of our all-night discussion. Also the amount sunlight in our flat is only minimal, well, that is how I see it." He craned his neck and looked at the window, which was only partially drawn, then hit the time on his mobile. The automated British voice stated: "eight o'clock A.M."

He smirked. He knew John would be head over heals trying to figure out how the time was just as he said it was.

"Right now this room looks a bit like the signature mark of Monet, too far or too close away and the painting is unrecognisable. Yet, there is no in between for me, except for maybe about.…" He beckoned John to lean forward a bit, then held up his hands to measure the distance, "yes, right about here. Two hand widths away is a good distance."

"Ok, so can you trace this purple part with your finger?" John pulled out an atlas and pointed to Africa holding it at said distance whilst Sherlock ran his finger between the blue water and purple Africa.

Their intense concentration on the continent* was interrupted with Lestrade bounding up the stairs.

"Gerald!" Sherlock's head shot up like a bullet from the barrel and eyed the door waiting for the man to reach the top, "do you have a Seven or Eight for me at least? I'm so bored! I've been banned from experiments in the flat. Do you realise how terrible that is?!"

"Hello John, Sherlock," the inspector braced himself against the frame breathing heavily, "Actually, yes. I don't know how high you'd rank it, but it's an interesting case. Could you two lend us a hand? By the way, how did you know it would be me coming up the steps?"

Sherlock straightened up in the chair and grinned smugly,"There is only one sound I know better than anything else. Scotland Yard's desperation to solve a case, and you're the only one who ever comes in here. Donovan and Anderson wouldn't dare unless you're with them."

Before either man could produce another sound, Sherlock leapt from his chair and raced to his room. He returned moments later donned in his beloved Belstaff coat, scarf, and a pair of black sunglasses.

John put a finger to his lips signalling Greg to not mention the new addition to the man's signature look until they had a moment to discuss it privately.

"Ok! Let's go then." John eagerly called out. He was glad of the interruption because cases always brought out the best parts in Sherlock's mood. The three filed out of the room and descended to the front door. Discreetly Sherlock kept his finger hooked on the back of John's jumper collar taking each step slowly and deliberately.

_John knew, but he didn't mind one bit. _

* * *

**A-N: Thanks for reading. Sorry for the delay in updating, I couldn't think of anything to write for this chapter so it sat idle for some days on my computer.**

**It would be lovely if you followed this story and/or leave a thought. :D**

**** I did research this fact. It might be incorrect in some instances, but for the most part what I wrote for John is accurate.****

***Africa is not a country.***


	10. At the Crime Scene

**Chapter 9**

* * *

_"Ok! Let's go then." John eagerly called out. He was glad of the interruption because cases always brought out the best parts in Sherlock's mood. The three filed out of the room and descended to the front door. Discreetly Sherlock kept his finger hooked on the back of John's jumper collar taking each step slowly and deliberately._

* * *

During the ride to the crime scene, Sherlock ordered for a full debriefing on the case. John willingly read the notes on the persons involved whilst the man with the Mind Palace filed each fact carefully away for later reference. The three men pulled up to an old worn down house fenced off with an unruly hedge surrounding the lot and vines growing wildly all over the grey slimy walls.

"Where are we John? How is this place?" Sherlock asked before Lestrade even had a chance to turn off the engine. John got out of the car and made sure his companion wouldn't hit his head following suit. The shorter man looked around then described it as just so, to which the other two just nodded. "Good," came the terse reply. "Let's go in now."

John felt a bit uneasy with Sherlock at a foreign place.

_So many things could go wrong..._

* * *

"Steps Sherlock. Give me your hand," John cautioned taking the outstretched hand and placing it on his shoulder before taking the first step on the unsteady rotten wooden staircase. The wood creaked and moaned as it took the weight of the men. "What a filthy place, must have even abandoned for quite a long time given it's rubbish up keeping. I would estimate between 6-8 years that this place has been empty given the height of the grass out in the front garden. The ideal place for the dead body," Sherlock indirectly complimenting the murderer running his gloved hand up the banister and wall.

The three newcomers had barely set foot over the threshold of the room before Sherlock's outburst of indignation startled everyone, "Anderson! Face the other way! Your face is putting me off! Why are you even here anyway? This isn't your division!"

John took one peak at the flabbergasted Anderson and couldn't help himself, he chuckled.

Anderson stripped off his gloves violently and stormed from the far end of the room to stand practically face on face close with his insultor screaming hysterically and repeatedly poking a finger into Sherlock's shoulder, who just ignored it, "What did you say..how dare you insult...how did you know...wait, I thought you...never mind, I don't care to know...Lestrade! Aren't you going to do something? Didn't you hear him?"

"Like what? I suggest you do something to make the situation better, " Lestrade commented.

Sherlock merely gave en evil smile before taking the offending finger in one hand and twisted it violently behind the attached body pinning the wrist painfully into the spine. "Hello Philip," the consulting detective growled into his ear popping the last 'p', "I didn't quite catch what you said, you stammered and mumbled. It's not highly approved of in society, you know? This way of speaking, it does make you look less intelligent than you already are. Now, what was it that you wanted to say? I advise you make your intentions clearly know."

Lestrade thought Anderson really did deserve what was coming to him after verbally abusing the consulting detective at every chance possible even since the two first met, but pulling the card the last grain of rice that tipped the scale. It didn't matter who is being discussed, playing 'that kind of card' is just socially and morally inexcusable in so many ways.

"Not to mention just his sensitive Sherlock is on the issue. It took some time and discussion for things to go the way they are now, and Anderson really isn't helping anything here at all," John thought.

Sherlock casually straightened his scarf with the other hand, "I'm waiting, I don't have all the time in the world to be standing here in this forsaken place. I've got things to do. "

Anderson knew he had crossed the line as soon as his blubbering mess of words came tumbling out of his mouth, but now was too late to fix anything. "Might as well take it and be done with it faster", he groaned in his head. "Eh...I said...em...that...asked how...well and em...I was amazed how did you know it was me before you came." he finished in a rush.

"Easy, I heard you whispering to Donovan about plans for tomorrow, and nothing about the victim or scene."

"I think you should say something else, shouldn't you Anderson?" John interjected earning a mildly surprised looked from the restrainer. "Yes sir, you are right," Anderson replied unaware of the word he was saying. John was a force not to be crossed with. He'd seen the military man successfully overpower criminals in their attempt to flee and had no wish to experience it personally. Sherlock released the man roughly causing him to tumble a bit before righting himself. "Now. Do not make me repeat myself," the captain crossed his arms and stood straight whilst Sherlock leaned lazily against the door drumming his fingertips lightly on the wood.

Anderson hunched over his shoulders and nodded solemnly, "I'm sorry Sherlock. I really didn't mean to be so rude. I really wasn't thinking. I won't let it slip again."

"Good answer, now get going back to the Yard," Lestrade steered Anderson to the stairs and pointed down," You're relieved of this case and futher cases until otherwise notified. You will be handling paper work instead. Go. Think about what happened here and make sure it never happens again." Anderson solemnly left without another word.

"Good." Sherlock straightened up and smiled happily, "Now that is settled, can we get back to the reason why we came here in the first place? John, the place," he prompted with a gesture of the room.

John took a glance at Sherlock before observing the rooms. That happy smile was just for show, it would take more than that to fool him in to believing a simple "good" would fix everything. Sherlock was abused verbally, but this time the words went through his armour. He knew how hard Sherlock had fought with the doctors, resisted the changes, and even more so his want to hide it from the public. Those two were both at fault. Sherlock didn't need to twist Anderson's arm and both men could have put more thought into their words before speaking. Anderson's comment wasn't necessarily rude per say, but it could have been said with a gentler rather than unkind tone. Perhaps that was what set Sherlock off after he provoked the man, what he didn't want came right in his face.

"Right, well female victim lies in sternal recumbency, with her head turned to the right. She is approximately thirty-five years old given the state of her teeth and general appearance. Hair light blonde and is disheveled as is her torn dress," John circled the victim observing the detail just like Sherlock would. "Mind calf length floral print with a 5 centimetre tear in the skirt diagonally down from left to right. Perhaps torn from catching it on the splintered wood here. Wound is to the head from a blunt object, minimal blood elsewhere aside from the place of impact. Anything else Sherlock?" John returned to his flatmate's side.

"Not bad, you're picking more and more with each case. You missed the obvious though. How big is the wound? How long has the blood been there? Any sign of struggle? Also, I know this isn't an empty room, you forgot that bit too. What's in the room? Where is the victim?" Sherlock took a small steps forward to the large colourful mass on the floor until he felt John's hand on his shoulder to hold him back, then knelt over the body. He pulled out a pair of latex gloves and palpated the victim, noting all the points his Eyes - aka John missed.

_Honestly, he did do well. Noticed more and more this time than before. He's learning quick. Good for him. First, describing the house then noting the rickety staircase, and now the victim. I'm pleased with his progress._

"I have all the information I need now. Do you have any witnesses or possible leads, Garret?" Sherlock turned on his heels and walked to the creme-coloured floating mass, which he knew as John wearing the hideous knitted jumper again. The doctor and inspector accidentally backed into the wall because Sherlock didn't know how close he had stopped in front of the two. "Uh, yea sure. We have one witness, but it has been hard to communicate with her. You're welcome to give it a go though. She's at the Yard." Lestrade called the remaining members of his team, who had mysteriously vanished at Sherlock's and John's appearance to take care of the body and finish the paperwork on the crime scene, then the three left for the Yard.

* * *

**A-N: Any comments, follows, and favourites are lovely. **

**Sorry for the delay in updating. I've been busy and suffering from writer's block-again. It's a dreadful condition. I think and think and think and nothing comes to mind, so I write something else.**

**The latest story is called YOU HAVE ALWAYS COUNTED. If I don't update this story, then I update that one. For some reason, as I'm writing for the other story, I find ideas for this one.**


	11. Surprises in Signs

**Chapter 10**

* * *

_"I have all the information I need now. Do you have any witnesses or possible leads, Garret?" Sherlock turned on his heels and walked to the creme-coloured floating mass, which he knew as John wearing the hideous knitted jumper again. The doctor and inspector accidentally backed into the wall because Sherlock didn't know how close he had stopped in front of the two. "Uh, yea sure. We have one witness, but it has been hard to communicate with her. You're welcome to give it a go though. She's at the Yard." Lestrade called the remaining members of his team, who had mysteriously vanished at Sherlock's and John's appearance to take care of the body and finish the paperwork on the crime scene, then the three left for the Yard._

* * *

John and Lestrade filled the ride back to the Yard with idle small talk about the weather (oh oh how sterotypical), the latest teams playing against each other and their scores, where to meet for the next drink at the pub. During their chattering, Sherlock was glad of the distraction, it kept his mind focused on the case at hand, and not what happened before it with Anderson and all.

_Granted, his apology was decent and accepted, but that was far too close for comfort. How is it that he, of all persons, manages to hit through this wall? John came close several times with his doctor side of him speaking. Molly, she...I tell her what I feel because I promised I wouldn't lie to her, and also because it is impossible to hide anything from her. Mary and Mrs. Hudson? They're kind, but why trouble them with knowledge of this? They don't need to know, some things are best left in the dark._

"Right, here we are back now," Lestrade announced to no one in particular, "Let's go to my office. I'll have the witness meet us there."

Sherlock knew the layout of the Yard perfectly. At one point he could describe in precise detail every little scratch and dent in the path to Lestrade's office, but the confidence in such a claim wasn't as it use to be. It terrifed him to loose that feeling of control on his own step.

John felt the subtle lag in his flatmate's step, so slowed down ever so slightly that it wouldn't have been noticeable to anyone, but for one holding on to his forearm felt it. He felt immensely grateful for it, it made him feel more safe.

_John, you never cease to amaze me. Not even a word nor even a hint, yet you understand almost how everything must be for me now._

_New Note. Fact: John is becoming sharper and sharper with his observations and acts accordingly. File: John Watson. Folder: Behaviours. Saved._

* * *

The 17-year old witness had been sleeping on one of the plastic chairs in the waiting room provided by the Yard when the consulting detective and doctor walked into the building. Her clothes were crumpled, faded, and with a face tear-stained from hours ago. Lestrade bekoned for her to follow them to his office. John led Sherlock to the corner of the desk, then step aside waiting for Lestrade and the witness to take their seats.

The witness took out her phone showed the inspector the message: "Who are these men? Do you know what happened yet?" He shook his head sadly and typed, "No, not yet. We are working on it. This is Dr. Watson and our associate Mr. Holmes. They help us with solving cases, and will help find the answer to what happened." Lestrade looked quizzically at John wondering how everything would pan out, the doctor just shrugged and gave a friendly smile to her.

Sherlock drummed his long bony fingers on the worn-outdesk and tapped his foot impatiently, "What is taking so long? John, explain." He thought for a moment then added in a whisper, "please John."

"Right, this is our witness," he motioned for her to come meet Sherlock. "She is seventeen and deaf. Aside from that you know everything else about the case, it was she who gave the details to the official report following her discovery of the victim." Whilst John spoke Lestrade wrote everything on paper for the girl to read then she wrote back, "Mr. Holmes, pleased to meet you. Are you blind? Will you find the answers to what happened?"

John read the question to Sherlock, who just had the hints of a smug smile curled on the corner of his lips. He raised his hands slightly, "Yes, I am," his eyes glimmered matching the smugness now clearly written across his face, "Quite so, but not yet entirely. It will be soon though; however, we both know that what we lack is the very least of our problems, isn't it? Tell me. I'm curious. These two," he gestured a bit too wide and unintentionally nearly taking out John's face in the process, "What are their expressions?"

She laughed at the little mishap then placed her hand in his and emphatically signed, "Yes! It's good to have someone that thinks like me. I don't care about the differences between us and everyone else. I just want to know the answer to what happened. That lady was a very important person to me. Although I am considered a witness, I wasn't in the actual room when everything happened. Well, the officer is surprised with his mouth slightly open, but the doctor's expressions are even more expressive. His face is just a very shocked look with his arms folded across his chest, but he also seems a bit upset because you almost hit him."

Sherlock chuckled, "You notice the details, I'm pleased with that. Those two don't know I can speak sign language. Just between us two," his expression softened for only a flicker of a second, "it feels good not being the ones left out, doesn't it?" Again he felt the girl nod emphatically. "As for the doctor, I didn't mean to hit him." Sherlock turned and apologised to his friend.

"Now tell me about the case. I gather there are many things you left out of the report based on what they've read to me so far," he signed. Her eyes light up and rushed to take his hand in hers again, "This is brilliant! I'm so so happy you can speak to me. Writing and texting is terribly slow. Yes, I did omit things. You're quite clever. The interrpreter left for a break, poor thing has been here all day bored as I am. She interpreted everything the officers asked, which were some rather dull questions, but after that they gave me paper to write everything down, said it was for official keeping. Then, I took a nap whilst she went for coffee. Now you three are here. That's everything I've done today."

Lestrade and John looked helplessly at each other, neither one knew much of BSL. A few words here and there, but they went too fast for either to get anything meaningful out of their conversation. John clearned his throat and signed one of the few words he recalled, "Sorry", then tapped Sherlock's shoulder, "Please enlighten us. I didn't know you knew BSL. Could you interpret for our benefit? We'd really like to know what you two are discussing."

She didn't need an interpreter to understand John and Sherlock's exchange. It was clear as glass that Sherlock enjoyed having the upper hand in this situation. "Very well, if you insist. I do strongly advise you to consider taking some classes to familiarise yourself with this complex and fascinating language," the consulting detective replied in a manner for all to understand him.

She guided him to the extra chairs one of the Yard staff had just brought in, placing him between herself and the doctor, "Now, let's get down to business," When the interpreter returns, she can speak for us. It may be a good chance to conduct an experiment on how many different tasks the brain is able to handle at the same time, but I would rather save for later until after this case is finished." ** This time the other three understood and chimed in their agreement. "Shall we begin? Tell me everything you left out in your report..."

* * *

**A-N: ****I hope you are enjoying this so far. ****Leave a thought, if you wish.**

****It takes quite an effort to interpret for long periods of time, that is why sometime (if available to) a person will have two interpreters with them. In Sherlock's case, he would have to verbalise the witness' words as well as his own, and sign John's and Lestrade's speaking. It is not impossible, but very taxing on the mind.****

**How does someone blind communicate with a person who is deaf? To think that almost, if not all, verbal languages have some accompanying form of Sign Language is quite extraordinary. **

**I am hesitant to give names to characters that are not part of the novel or series, so the victim and witness will not have names as of right now. Perhaps later they might.**


	12. A Quiet Evening

**Chapter 11**

* * *

_She guided him to the extra chairs one of the Yard staff had just brought in, placing him between herself and the doctor, "Now, let's get down to business," When the interpreter returns, she can speak for us. It may be a good chance to conduct an experiment on how many different tasks the brain is able to handle at the same time, but I would rather save for later until after this case is finished." This time the other three understood and chimed in their agreement. "Shall we begin? Tell me everything you left out in your report..." She took Sherlock's hands and began to tell the tale._

* * *

Not long after the witness began telling her account, the interpreter arrived and took over Sherlock's temporary position as such. He was glad of her presence.

_Really, I'm surprised. I would have thought Lestrade to know a few things of BSL, such as the alphabet or basic information, given his profession of interacting with people. They really should take some classes. It would be most beneficial for John too. _

There was quite a bit of information the witness freely shared with the three men, so it took a few hours including the time for the additional questions Sherlock asked. To all others in the room, it seemed Sherlock never tired of listening to the witness or firing question after question at her. Some of the questions were about the victim, others were about herself. Obviously, the consulting detective had deduced the past sixteen years of her life mostly accurately. There was the occasional mishap of gender swapped siblings or such thereof until she fully explained her family matters_ ("There's always something!"_). He was intrigued with her history, and how she became entangled in such a position to find herself sitting at Scotland Yard. At last, the meeting adjourned. The interpreter was exhausted, John was half asleep, and Lestrade was barely functional. The only two lively ones were the young witness and The One And Only.

"Lestrade, I will call you with the results. I have what I need now. Come on John, let's go!" Sherlock donned his coat, scarf, and sunglasses and waited, but John was so tired he didn't hear. Sherlock address him a second time, "John? Get up. We're done. Let's go back to the flat now. Mary is home." At mention of his wife, the smaller man seem to snap out of his haze, so lead Sherlock out of the office by the arm, and with the others trailing behind.

Sherlock's mind was spinning wildly with information, like a mass of letters swarming inside his Palace. It was hard for him to concentrate on anything, much less walking.

"Hurry John!" He ordered.

Finally reaching the safety of the panda car, he closed his eyes and leaned his head on the cool glass. It wouldn't take long for the ride from Scotland Yard to Baker Street, but it was enough time to organise the information into manageable size for detail filing later.

* * *

"So, were you ever going to tell me?" John asked whilst placing a steaming cup of Earl Grey in Sherlock's demanding hands, and then eased himself into his own spot without spilling a drop of his own. "Tell what? You two have been away all day. It is nearly six in the evening. I haven't heard a word about the case since your return, that isn't like you two at all. How was the case? Interesting, I hope." Molly observed the two from her curled up position in the crook of the armrest and back end of the sofa. She looked up from her book wearing an expression that required a sufficient answer.

"Sherlock will tell you. He would be delighted to do that." John deadpanned shooting a scathing look at said man. He was feeling a bit on edge due to the stress Sherlock had caused him that afternoon with the more that usual antics he displayed during the time with the witness.

"Yes John, I was planning to tell you when the time became necessary, as it did the moment I met our witness, which by the way is proving to be quite an interesting case- cataloging all her behaviors and words. However, the current case itself is quite perplexing," the man paused to take a sip delaying the much wanted response John expected, "I require more information before I can rule out my theories. Currently, I have seven plausible solutions that fit the crime scene and her account of what happened. There are factors that are missing for each theory, we must test them out. I'm afraid you'll have to sacrifice some sleeping time to get on with this is case. Shouldn't trouble you too much, would it?"

_Give up precious sleep?! Few people can demands such a request and have it granted. Sherlock is one of the few, but that doesn't mean he can abuse the power of such. _

"Yea, sure. Not too late though. I would like at least a minimum of five hour of proper sleeping and not just dozing off. I would also demand that we stop to have a proper meal, not everyone can survive on tea and little nibbles of bread and biscuits during the day," John answered hoping he wouldn't regret it later. After all, the doctor did still have a job at the clinic and he did have patient to take care of tomorrow. No one would want a GP that performed examinations or prescribed medications whilst half-asleep.

Turning to Molly, he added, "This is an interesting case. I will tell you, as John put it, be delighted to." John scowled and choked on his breath as Sherlock scoffed over the borrowed words.

"Well. I'm going upstairs now to Mary," the tired doctor stretched out his back creating a symphony of cracking sound from his spine, "Think of my health and my job at the clinic when you decide to drag me along in some unpleasant hour to do something crazy. Better yet, let all of your antics wait till tomorrow. It is far too late for anything now."

"Go. I will call for you when I require your assistance. I need to consult some things first," Sherlock set his tea down and opened the doors to his Mind Palace. He wandered around in there re-reading past files on his friends, organised his newer bits of miscellaneous information into their proper places, and catalogued his findings about the witness and the present case. Pleased with the work accomplished, he descended down the stairs, locked the gate, and returned to his chair in the Baker Street flat.

"Well?" Molly prompted with an accompanying poke to the consulting detective's shoulder who was now coherent again, "you said you would tell me about the case. Now would be a good time to do so."

"Ehem, actually no. I will tell you later. Molly, I require your assistance." The consulting detective unexpectedly stood up and straightened his suit, "I need to go to the morgue and conduct and experiment."

Sherlock sat back down and fiddled with his cold cup of tea until Molly decided to move from her spot, Are you ready?" He demanded impatiently," I need to go to the morgue. My experiment is there waiting- the acid one. I must record the changes."

"Sherlock, do you know what time it is? It is far too late to go to the morgue now. I don't have access to get in the building, only into the morgue. This has to wait until tomorrow. Why don't you eat or find something else to do? Better yet, go to John. He would be hungry after skipping a lunch because of your hastiness. Here, take this peace offering to him." She came back from the kitchen and pressed a steaming cup of tea into his hand, then put his other hand on the banister," give him this and maybe he won't be so cross with you when he wakes. Ask Mary to come down also for something to eat. You can also tell me about the case, you're usually not so quiet about them. I want to know why is this one so special."

She gave him a gentle push to climb the flight of steps then returned to the kitchen. He couldn't find an ounce of reason to argue with her, she was right on all account, so he started up the steps. As a friend would be so, Sherlock should have taken better care of John firstly, by providing sufficient food and rest.

* * *

**A-N: I have been quite busy and hadn't had any time to write. Doubling as hostess and musician is very exhausting, but enjoyable. Six months of planning and rehearsals with many others has finally paid off with amazing results. Additionally, I will be away starting next month and will return in shortly before August comes. During that time, I won't have access much to internet so won't be able to post or reply much at all.**

**Thank you for reading still! A word or two from you makes me very happy. **


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